The Sound of a Thousand BONKS
by Drsp00ky
Summary: One Scout is annoying. Several Scouts, incredibly aggravating. But a force of Scouts numbering in the hundreds? Has the terrifying power to drive anyone completely insane.


Team Fortress 2 and all characters are copyright Valve. This fic is written for amusement and nothing more.

* * *

"Need a dispensah here!"

"Need a dispensah here!"

"Need a dispensah here!"

"Need a dispensah here!"

"Need a dispensah here!"

THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. DINK. WHACK.

"Bonk!"

The incessant loud mouthed yelling and the slamming of metal bats on any surface they came in close contact with was roughly the only sounds that could be heard in all of 2fort. Nothing much else aside from that could even be heard over the din. It had been like this for nearly a full week now. The Scouts had taken over, completely.

Somehow, a Spy-sapped teleporter malfunction had begun the incident. Innocently enough at first, it had caused one of the BLU team's Scouts to suddenly divide into two. Simply, 'POOF!' There was another Scout. Everyone else on the team had been surprised, of course, but in the heat of the battle they were in it seemed like it couldn't hurt any as they were aching for an extra man anyway. And who better than another smart talking, fast running little Scout to draw fire of the opposing side?

Just as they were about to grab RED's intel, the two Scouts again divided in the same bizarre puff of energy. Again, BLU team figured this could definitely work out to their advantage as it was increasing their team's forces. The four Scout team had run circles around the REDs (literally) and quickly batted down most of their defense, leaving BLU with the day's victory.

All was well and good until the four Scouts continued to divide into newer Scouts. And those Scouts divided into new Scouts.

And so on...And so on...

Engineer had been struggling to figure out the source of the Scout's continuous multiplying to help put a stop to it before they overran the place, but after three days had completely lost all ability to think straight and was hold up in his garage workshop, doors barricaded by a heavy steel tool cabinet, sitting in the corner with his fingers in his ears and mumbling to himself incoherently.

They wouldn't stop talking. They wouldn't stop insulting. They wouldn't stop _annoying_.

They ran around the compound, racing each other, flying around to and fro during double jumps, bouncing of the rooftops, the covered bridge, the walls. Anything and everything. Slamming bats into walls and other bats, knocking and tapping on everything they went past, including fellow non-Scout team members.

Soldier had suffered a severely strained throat and complete loss of voice from screaming at the Scouts constantly for their 'insubordination', and to force them to stop whacking him on the helmet when they came scampering by. It had become quite dented. Currently, Soldier just sat, unmoving, at the mess hall table. The Scouts continued to run all over, including jumping on the table itself, still wacking his helmet. But now he didn't seem to mind as much. He wasn't there anymore, after all. His mind had long since gone AWOL and vowed not to return anytime soon. Sometimes a bit of drool would leak from the corner of his slightly open mouth.

Demoman had at first been mostly too drunk to bother with the ever growing Scout plague. But that was only until he'd run out of booze to keep himself sane with. The Scouts had gotten into his stash and had a bit of a party one evening. Instead of fervent, hyper and otherwise level-headed mayhem, the team was overwhelmed by clumsy, stinking drunken mayhem. The lounge room tv had been smashed in with a bat, couch turned over. Scouts were lying in stupored piles on the floor, active Scouts tripping over other Scouts as they ran, giggling and slurring their insults. A few of them had actually been dismembered during a wild dare outside to see who could jump from BLU base to RED right over the covered bridge and onto the other side's battlements. Scouts filled the air that evening, some slamming into each other and falling to their demise into the waters below, or the bridge, or the ground. A few just were too drunk to stand up at all and lost their footing from the battlements before evening getting a turn to try. Their shrill screams filled the air for a while, adding to the ear-shattering chaos.

Demoman couldn't take it after a while. He was one of the first to vote that the Scouts simply be blown to bits until their was only one left. (Maybe even accidentally none, at this point.) But that was back when the team still had their wits about them. Demo had long since run screaming "AH CANNO TAKE IT ANYMOOOOR!" and thrown himself out a window. He got back up and just kept running. Where to, nobody could tell. Maybe he was still out there running. Trying to get away.

Sniper had succumbed to the vile wrath of the Scouts after the third day. He tried holding out as long as he could manage, but his nerves simply could not take the non-stop harassment. Each "Need a dispensah here! Need a teleportah here! Bonk! Boink!" and so forth, and donk of bats or thump of running feet everywhere, day after day, night after night, had frazzled the marksman's nerves well beyond repair. He was crammed into a corner of his sniper's nest with his knees drawn up, jaws clenched and wide eyed look of trauma on his face, shaking uncontrollably, with his rifle clutched to his chest. He was hanging on to it so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

"Need a dispensah here! Need a dispensah here! BONK! BONK! Hey, chucklehead, ya payin' attention?" The seemingly merciless Scouts were still casually going about their business around the man, the ones standing around him poking him with their bats and yelling into his ears. Sniper had previously forced his mind on a walkabout and would only still stare into space at something far distant now, leaving the Scouts to do as they pleased.

Medic had gone down shortly after Demoman once he realized there was little hope for his brain's survival against the Scout onslaught. He'd tried to secure himself in the Med room but the Scouts had simply been too many to keep back. They swarmed in quickly and overtook the Med room, shouting, banging on the walls, screaming "DOC! DOC! HEY DOC! YO, DEUTSCHBAG!" and manhandling all the delicate equipment. One of them managed to steal off Medic's glasses before he could stop them and he was plunged into a world of blurry Scout madness. He'd lost the battle then and shortly after had simply slid down the wall to his knees clutching his head and screaming. In fact, he was still screaming right up to the forth day of Scout terror. Luckily for him, he'd finally eventually passed out into welcome unconsciousness from loss of breath. (How he had screamed for that long anyway is unknown. Perhaps he had gained exceptionally trained lungs for all the screaming he usually did anyway during battles.)

Heavy had been the toughest, able to last almost a full six days while everyone else was going down around him. He had Sasha. He had Sandvich. Well, at least for a while he'd had.

The Scouts had quickly depleted his Sandvich supply when they raided the refrigerator and practically destroyed most of the kitchen. Then they came after Sasha.

"Touch!"

"DO NOT TOUCH SASHA!"

"Touch!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAH! I CRUSH LEETLE MAN LIKE BUG!"

"Yo, fatty! Guess what? Touch!"

"Oh yeah! Touch, touch, touch!"

"AAAAAAAANOOOO!"

One Scout would come from the left and leave a grimy fingerprint on poor Sasha and while Heavy turned to slam a mighty fist upon the easily crushable head, another Scout would come from the right and smear his grabby hands upon her. It continued like that until Heavy finally could bear it no longer. He broke down and cried. Like baby. The Scouts then began dressing up Sasha with various condiments from the fridge and napkin wads. They also got bored and dressed up Heavy much the same way. "Aww, don't they make a cute couple?" the Scouts had mused.

Pyro had been chased around the compound for hours until finally being backed into a corner by an advancing army of playful Sandman wielding Scouts."Let's play ball, Mumbles!" they had jeered as Pyro shivered with his back to the wall, shaking his head violently and silently pleading for mercy. There was none to be given as the barrage of projectiles hit. Pyro's already muffled screams were muffled further under a hail storm of thunking baseballs. And one thrown Sandman.

"BONK!"

The Spy had almost survived the incident. He might have managed to get away if it hadn't been for a roaming Scout with a stolen Jarate jar blowing his cover rather unpleasantly, adding insult to insanity. He'd already seen the damage done to his fellow team mates and chose to end it quickly for himself with the Ambassador. Unfortunately, he had forgotten the Respawn was still active. The Scout horde packed into there had a field day with him when he showed up. He was promptly dragged to a supply locker and shoved inside where he actually preferred to remain, in a best fetal position as he could manage while stuffed into a locker.

The Scouts had in fact, eventually stopped spawning after the sixth day. There were simply so many now, both bases were choked to the brim. It wasn't even known where the original Scout was. Or if he himself had been driven mad as well by his own dopplegangers.

And so 2fort was lost to the Scouts. They still would not shut up. Not for anything. For no one. Nothing could stop them. All who drew near would be consumed by the madness they brought.


End file.
